The Luck
by OneOfShadows
Summary: 20 years after Alduin's demise Heljarchen Hall stands empty, the Dragonborn - vanished. But when two thieves break in for a casual spot of loot, they find more than they bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

Two thieves looked up apprehensively at the soot-blackened facade that loomed over them. Their lantern made little difference in the moonless night, only turned the shifting shadows deeper and even more malicious than they were already. The howling winds whipped against them, grabbing at their hair and spraying snow crystals in their eyes. The larger thief, though small for a Nord, turned to the Khajiit beside him, and rumbled, "Go on, I don't want to stand here all night."

The Khajiit puffed a misty breath, that was instantly carried away by the wind and tried to balance the lockpick in trembling fingers. The sharp wind had no difficulty in whipping through her thick fur, but that was not the only reason Ah'fera was shivering.

Heljarchen Hall was surrounded by almost as many stories as the Dragonborn who built it. Numerous parties had been thrown here, always private and guarded by a few Companions, hired specially for the purpose. No details ever leaked out, only rumors about the gold spent and amounts of alcohol drunk. Everyone was vying for the place in her guest-list.

But what had drawn Jole and Ah'fera were the tales of treasures amassed here in her time with the Companions. And a bet.

The lock finally clicked open under Ah'fera's skilled fingers. She turned to Jole apprehensively, not wanting to be the first to enter. The Hall had been abandoned for more or less twenty years, but any thief learned to be hesitant around anything related to the Dragonborn. Legends circulated even now. The first pickpocket was let of with a warning, the second got three fingers broken, and after that it became almost a game. Fortunately for the thieves, the Dragonborn was very good-natured. Terminally.

Jole sighed at the Khajiiti woman's jittery nerves and pushed open the door. Rusty hinges creaked in protest, but gave in eventually. The pair stepped in, looking around wide-eyed as the lantern gradually revealed their surroundings.

Jole pulled back his hood, revealing golden hair, and set the lantern on a nearby table. The interior was tastefully decorated, artful gilding gleaming in the dim light, carvings still untouched by wood-borers, but overlayed on everything was a layer of soot, accompanied by the smell of burnt decay.

Ah'fera found a few candle-ends with about twenty minutes of light still left in them and lit them by the lantern. She nodded to Jole soundlessly and proceeded carefully, wincing with the slightest creek of floorboards.

The entry room was sparsely furnished, but when the main hall came fully into light, their breath caught. The two thieves pulled out loot bags and started going over the room to sweep in anything that looked valuable. Gems were scattered everywhere, glittering even under the layer of dust. Gold coins sparkled, enchanted weapons cast their eerie glow from plaques on the walls.

At the first sight of such a glow, Ah'fera gasped and shuddered. To Jole's questioning look she answered, "I thought it was a ghost."

Jole groaned, "Not this again. What book was it now?"

Ah'fera didn't mind the slight reproach - her fascination with ghost stories had been responsible for more than just one midnight fray in the bedrooms. "It was the Legend of Krately House. Two thieves broke in to loot a long abandoned house- " she began immediately, not even noticing Jole roll his eyes. He was stuffing gems and gold in his bag now, while Ah'fera went on further to the library on the right. She continued, "-and in the house there were ghosts of the previous occupants. The-"

Jole cut her off. "When you say 'previous' do you mean they just moved, or ..."

"The other kind of previous. So, they were exploring, while the ghosts were stuck in the past – Oh, look I think these are dragon scales!"

Jole rushed over, not believing his ears. Dragon scales were immensely valuable now, more than their weight in gold. There were indeed, scattered on the shelves among the books, scrolls, more gems and gold and jewelry little piles of scales the size of nails. "So what of the ghosts?" He asked after pulling out a smaller bag and carefully sweeping up all the scales.

"They slowly puzzled out the story. The history of the family and so on." Ah'fera padded up to the second floor where she found another assortment of valuables. Her candle winked out in a breeze and she hissed, but blinked to allow her night-vision to adjust.

"And what happened?" Jole called up from the library.

"They saw the ghosts slowly murdered. The mother had apparently been a witch, and the other witches didn't like her departing from the coven."

"So? Hey, did you fill up the oil? The lantern's going out, and I can't relight any of the candles."

Ah'fera stiffened, all treasures forgotten. She asked in a trembling voice, "Tell me, Jole, the Dragonborn didn't die here, did she?"

"What? No, no, I think she just went away. Damn it!" The glow from the first floor winked out.

"We must go now." Ah'fera said stiffly and tucked her bag in her belt. Even a scared thief doesn't forget her loot.

"Why? Not yet, just come and help me with this light. Gods, I can't see a damned thing."

Ah'fera sighed and turned around. What happened next she didn't see, as her eye squeezed shut involuntarily the very moment cold steel touched her throat. She felt the bag being tugged away and let go without a sound. Her invisible assailant didn't make a single noise, not even the sound of breathing, but the Khajiit didn't care much if it was even alive. Just that someone, or something was holding a blade to her throat eliminated any other speculations.

In her mind, Ah'fera cursed Jole, who was blundering in the darkness below, making as much noise as a baby elephant. She felt light bloom on the other side of her closed eyelids as all the candles in the house burst alight at once and an amused voice just in front of her said, "Well, well, aren't you the unlucky ones."

Ah'fera heard Jole downstairs unsheathe his blade, but it wouldn't be much good, if her suspicions proved correct, which, unfortunately, they did. She heard Jole pounding up the stairs, only to slow down as the figure in front of her came in his view. The knife was taken away from Ah'fera's neck, and she finally drew a deep breath before finally daring to look.

The figure, clad in armor made of dragon scales, sheathed her Daedric dagger as if catching thieves was completely everyday for her and looked at the pair with humor sparkling in her green eyes.

Jole seemed to regain hold of his tongue again and said angrily, "Who are you? We were here first and this place is abandoned. You have no right to-"

"Silence, boy. I can now see where the saying '_thick as thieves_' has come from. I have every right here, and you better show some respect or be prepared to eat only with a straw in the future."

Jole's features which had been drawn in anger smoothed out in total bafflement and finally realization dawned. "Dragonborn! You're the Dragonborn! But you were gone, and, and ..."

"I'm aware of the fact, yes. Who are you two?"

"Me, I'm Jole, a thief. That is Ah'fera."

The Dragonborn flashed a smile that made Jole blush to the roots of his hair and said, "Pleased to meet you. I'm Nefasteri."


	2. Chapter 2

Jole's mouth was still hanging open as Nefasteri sweeped past him to give a closer scrutinizing look to Ah'fera who was standing stock still.

"So, what's this about? I remember clearly making a contract with old Delvin that no thief will step in this house and stay in the Guild."

"The Guild? The Guild is dead!" Jole exclaimed incredulously, forgetting all surprise and astonishment. "There is no guild, only us two, some kids, Vex, and Brynjolf, who is watching over us. The Guild was raided fifteen years ago and never recovered."

"Oh? So, as the contract is broken, I'm free to dispose of any cheeky lawbreakers as I choose."

Ah'fera shuddered and said, her Elsweyr accent becoming more perceptible in her stress, "Please, lady, we didn't know you would ever return, and, well, what sense is there in all this gold and gems just laying around?"

"Lady? I am no lady. But you do raise a point. I have to make my return known. So you tell me where your little hideout is and I'll drop in later. Let's see just how good Brynjolf's memory is. In return, you get to keep your heads and those little bags. But no more stealing here."

She gave the room a sweeping glance, and the thieves could just see a hint of regret cross her pale features. Then she seemed to straighten and regain her perfect composure, and she marched downstairs without a backwards glance, picking up a worn leather backpack on the way. Jole and Ah'fera looked at each other and realizing, they really had no other choice, followed.

The lights went out just as Nefasteri stepped out and locked the door with a heavy silver key. She turned to the pair behind her and asked, "So? Where are you lot holed up?"

Jole looked down, unwilling to part with such information. It was Ah'fera who spoke finally, amber eyes darting around nervously, after Nefasteri's steely look grew even sharper, "We live in Pinewatch. It is north of-"

"Yes, yes, I know where it is." Nefasteri waived the Khajiit impatiently into silence and continued, "You two will not speak of this. Not until I visit you. And maybe not even then. Got it?"

The two nodded and scurried away in the howling night, happy to get some distance between them and the foreboding Dragonborn.

Nefasteri watched the thieves until darkness swallowed them. Then she found where the lights of Dragonsreach shone through the blizzard and swinging the backpack on her shoulders trudged through the snow towards the light.

It was morning, but not just that. It was a glorious morning, the sun lighting the world until all the flowers seemed to glow. Butterflies danced on air filled with birdsong. The streets of Whiterun seemed cleaner then before. The mood even seemed to rub off on people, who went on their tasks smiling and chatting. A glorious morning.

So most in Whiterun were only mildly peeved, when a tall, middle-aged woman shouldered her way through the bustling market with a face like a storm cloud, blond hair streaming behind. She was dressed in respectable, clean farm-clothes, and carrying a bulging leather bag. Some elders did look thoughtfully after her, but no one said a word. She positively stomped up the steps to the Wind District, nearly pushing people over and, to the surprise of a young companion on watch, turned to Jorrvaskr. The young man didn't even try to stop her - not with that look on her face. It said 'go ahead, _make my day_'_._

There weren't a lot of companions in the hall, most were out in the yard or on jobs. Those still eating their breakfast never even got the chance to stop the woman who banged the door shut with such force spiders fell from the ceiling, and made her way, very loudly, to the living quarters.

In the Harbinger's room, Vilkas was enjoying a book. He didn't do this particularly often, but it was an exceptionally good book. He was therefore not in the mood for a visitor, who came unannounced, banging on every possible piece of furniture on the way, threw her bag in the corner and snatched his book away only to flop it on the table. He was ready to draw his sword, when he raised his silver eyes to find a familiar pair of emerald green ones staring back.

"Nefasteri! Is it really you?"

"No, I'm just a ghost, damn it! What do you think?" The Harbinger plopped tiredly on the chair opposite and poured a goblet of wine from the open bottle.

"It's just that, I never expected to see you again! Not after all these years. I assume you'll want your rooms back?"

"Not at the moment. First I want to know everything that has happened while I was away. And, and..." Nefasteri seemed to remember the cause of her ferocious mood and raised an accusing finger, "do you know just how many sabre cats attacked me on my way from home? DO YOU? It was bloody FOURTEEN! I don't know _what_ have you been doing here, but it has not been HUNTING!" She leaned down and scrabbled in her bag for a moment, producing a little pouch, which she proceeded to empty on the table. It was sabre cat teeth, presumably fourteen pairs of the fangs.

Vilkas chuckled and never even blinked an eye at the outburst - if his Harbinger was still the same as before, she certainly didn't mean any harm, just venting the anger. But she did have a point. "Well, yes, I admit, the hunting parties became rarer and rarer after Aela stopped shouting at everyone here."

The Harbinger's anger was gone in a moment. Whatever she was, however angry she was and how long she had gone, she was still their Harbinger, albeit not a particularly good one. "Did something happen to her? Is she here?"

"She's fine, and still a huntress. Don't worry. But I think she will want to tell you herself. She's in the yard, training up some whelps." Vilkas rose from his seat with a gleeful grin on his unshaven face.

"Let's go then."


	3. Chapter 3

As Vilkas and Nefasteri exited the hall and onto the yard, they were met by a most peculiar sight - a lean girl of no more than sixteen was busily incapacitating three stocky full-grown warriors. One was already groaning on the ground. There was something dauntingly familiar about the girl's face and auburn hair, which Nefasteri couldn't quite place.

They stood under the canopy, in the shade, watching until the girl finished fighting - her opponents were all groaning on the ground, and Nefasteri had no doubt they would be black and blue from the bruises in the morning. Now two companions, whom Nefasteri didn't remember having seen before, helped the fallen up and led them to the shade.

Vilkas, seeing Nefasteri's puzzlement, said, "Eana takes after her mother in looks, though she has skill from both her parents. We have been using her as a judge of people's fighting. If they live, they pass."

"What, do you mean she has killed here? Vilkas you know this is-"

"No, not like that. If they said they'd rather die than train with Eana again, then we let them go."

"Oh, well." Nefasteri paused for a moment and smiled mischievously, looking up at Vilkas, "So you and Aela, eh?"

The gruff warrior looked bashful for a moment, but smiled and said, "Aye, that we are." He paused and called the girl over.

Eana really took after her mother, except the eyes which were as silver as Vilkas'. She eyed Nefasteri down and asked with a slight sneer, "Do I have to test her too? She seems a bit old."

Nefasteri laughed and before Vilkas could say anything, replied, "Yes, girl, I would like you to test my skill. No weapons, please - I can barely lift them."

Eana sighed and turned back to the yard, murmuring something about age madness. Nefasteri just grinned at Vilkas and said, "Don't worry. We're both too proud as we are, and whichever of us loses will have had a good lesson in humility."

She reached behind and loosed some strings on her dress. The skirt slipped down, revealing leather leggings. Nefasteri smiled again, this time with a predatory spark in her eyes and strode lightly over to the yard, where Eana was waiting already, smoothing down her hide armor.

"Let's get cracking," the girl said and launched herself at Nefasteri.

She had obviously been expecting a fast victory and neglected to think strategically. Nefasteri neatly sidestepped the attack and hit the girl on the back. She wriggled, avoiding most of the damage, but she hadn't been expecting such agility from the 'old lady.' As they clashed, a crowd of watchers drew in, both full-fledged companions and whelps.

They were closely matched, Nefasteri's skill and experience leveled by Eana's vigor and speed. The match went on ten long minutes, until Eana wobbled and tripped, not accustomed to such long fights. All the gathered watchers were talking days afterwards about what had happened - did the older woman really jump five feet in the air and kick the girl down before neatly dropping on the ground again, or did she simply kick Eana's feet from under her? Whatever the move had been, it ended with Eana flat on her stomach, and Nefasteri on top of her.

"So, what's the lesson we learned today?" the Harbinger leaned down while the crowd exploded in applause and questions like 'who is she?'

The girl mumbled something unintelligible, struggling against the pressure to get free.

Nefasteri got up and drew the girl up with her, saying, "We don't get cocky around old ladies before finding out who they are, got it?"

"Fine, fine." Eana was struggling between wanting to know, who Nefasteri was, and trying to run away from the amazed and amused crowd. Fortunately, Vilkas came to them, and Aela too, melting out of the surroundings like a shadow.

"Nef!" the huntress exclaimed and threw her arms around Nefasteri's neck, receiving a hug just as tight, while Eana watched wide-eyed at the spectacle. Then the huntress turned to her daughter and said in an admonitory tone, "I hope you learn from this mistake, Eana. Never underestimate your enemy."

Eana barely listened, and as soon as Aela shut her mouth, the girl exclaimed, "Who is this?"

"I am Nefasteri, your Harbinger."

All the rage drained out of the girl immediately and she deflated like an apple left too long in the sun. She had grown up listening to the amazing feats of the Harbinger, the victories, and even more victories. They said Nefasteri never lost a fight. But, after twenty years of absence, some had been starting to doubt that saying. The girl stood stock still - somehow her defeat didn't even seem so terrible now, that she knew it was the Harbinger who she held off for ten whole minutes.

Nefasteri smiled in a conciliatory way and said, "Don't worry, you'll be a huntress yet. The first time we met, your father ended up eating a mouthful of dirt too, so consider yourself continuing the family tradition." As Vilkas very nearly blushed from embarrassment she turned to the couple beside her and said, "We need to talk now. Where is Farkas?"

"He's out on a job I believe. But he should be back soon," Aela replied, leading the way back to the hall, while Eana stayed back in a crowd of companions imparting the real identity of her victor as an excuse of defeat.

Back in the underground coolness of her Harbinger's quarters, Nefasteri began, "Tell me all. What has been happening while I was away? Is the war still on? How is the money coming?"

"Yes, the war is still being fought, but at a snail's pace," Aela began the recount. "Both Stormcloak and Tullius are old men - they cannot keep this on for long, yet they refuse to give command to younger generals. Both sides have approached us, to hire our help."

"Ye gods!" Nefasteri breathed out. "You did refuse them, didn't you?"

"Of course. No politics, just as you said. But now with the war, there are more and more renegades, war criminals, and other riff-raff. The main parties have no time to deal with them, or so they claim, and the people come to us for help. Some come to help, not wanting to choose a side."

"So that's that. What of Balgruuf? Is he still Jarl?"

"Yes, but he is very old. He is still sound of mind, but the temple healers say his body is failing. A disease of some kind, one that cannot be healed."

"Oh." Nefasteri looked crest-fallen. Balgruuf had always been just and honorable, putting his people before himself. "How long do they say he has?"

"A year maybe. Maybe three days. It's a terrible illness that ravaging him. Now they can only keep the pain away, but barely." A hint of sadness snuck even into ever-steely Aela's voice.

"Then I must go to him now. Everything else can wait." Nefasteri stood up resolutely.

"We'll go with you," Vilkas said, and Aela nodded. They had always been good friends to the Harbinger.

"I have to change into something more presentable, but please send down someone to ask when is the next carriage leaving for Falkreath," Nefasteri said and retreated into her bedroom with the old leather sack.

Vilkas went to find some whelp to send on the task at Aela's prod, and a few minutes later Nefasteri emerged, now wearing her light dragon-scale armor. The women left the underground side by side, meeting Vilkas on the way. The trio then continued out of the hall and into the still bright light of day.


	4. Chapter 4

Dragonsreach stood on its cliff as high and foreboding as ever, overlooking the whole city. A true place for a ruler.

The trio climbed the long stone stairs followed by curious glances of bystanders and guards, but most of the people were a new generation and had never seen Nefasteri. Traditionally, the Harbinger had always been an integral part of the city, occasionally even advising the Jarl on politics and the working of the city, everyone had grown to Vilkas in the role.

"I should've come sooner," Nefasteri said to no one in particular.

"Why? You can't do anything for Balgruuf," Vilkas laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know, I just ... I feel like I have to do something. Like I should rush off for some miracle cure, or something like that. Like I've been living my life for others. And now ... those lives are ending, one by one, and suddenly I can't do anything to stop it."

Aela and Vilkas fell silent, not having a reply to a statement such as this. They were warriors, not thinkers, and life hadn't given them much time to think. It was always fighting.

The guard on watch duty beside the door respectfully opened one side for the warriors as they approached. Nefasteri strode through like a queen, head held high, with Vilkas and Aela trailing behind with a more modest step. The hall was empty, save for the guards and a lone cleaner. Up, just below the ceiling, swirls of dust turned in the light, but the floor was in twilight, lit by a single fire.

Since the wasting disease had gripped Balgruuf, he had been relocated to the second floor, where a bed was constructed, and the old man could still conduct his and the hold's affairs with some dignity. It was only a matter of time when he would be moved to the Temple of Kynareth, and one of his sons would take up the reins of leadership.

A guard was standing by the stairs to the second floor. He stepped away once he recognized Aela and Vilkas, but Nefasteri received a hard glare. She couldn't help but notice that the guard put his hand on his sword in a not entirely harmless manner.

The second floor had been changed since Nefasteri last saw it. Gone was the war table and the bookshelves - in their place stood a great soft bed on which the Jarl lay fully clothed, surrounded by his court. Nefasteri's heart clenched when she saw the old man. His pale face had fallen, covered in spots and wrinkles. His muscles had fallen away, and now an old wasted man lay here, waiting the door to shut on his life, instead on the hearty and well Nord Nefasteri had left here twenty years ago.

Irileth was the only one who looked the same - and she would still be here like this, even when Nefasteri died herself, and long after that as was expected of an elf. Proventus was here too, talking in soft, lecturing tones to a girl of twenty, that Nefasteri had never seen before. She supposed that would be the new steward in training.

The room was brightly lit, since the old Jarl's eyesight had wasted away with his body, but he recognized Nefasteri nevertheless. He even tried to sit up in the bed, but a nurse held him back, casting a condemning look at the trio. If she had been given her way, no one would be allowed to disturb the Jarl. Everyone in the room - Proventus and his trainee stewardess, Balgruuf's brother, the five guards and the Jarl's son - eyed the trio, ready to move at the slightest show of threat, but Balgruuf waived them away with his eyes trained on Nefasteri.

"Dragonborn, you have come home," he began in a crackling voice, the sort that one waits for to die down any minute, but it finds strength and keeps going.

"Yes, my Jarl. I have come to pay my respects." Nefasteri knelt by the bed.

"And I suppose you will not tell me where have you been all these years?" Nefasteri smiled. Obviously the disease had not wasted his strength of spirit and the was an amused spark in his piercing blue eyes.

"No, my Jarl, that I will not do. But is there anything I can do, before..." Nefasteri trailed off. 'Before you die' sounds more like a 'just get on with it' in the wrong company, and this was definitely the wrong company.

"Before I die?" the old man chuckled with some difficulty, "Don't look so shocked, girl. I know my fate. All I need of you is the promise that you will do your best for Skyrim to your very last breath."

"I promise." Even saying this, Nefasteri pondered on the unchangeable fate of being Dragonborn. Always for Skyrim, for the people, for the Jarls.

"Very well, girl. Now I grow tired again - that happens far too much these days. You will excuse me."

Nefasteri stood up and bowed. Warriors never curtsy, no matter what gender they are.

The streets outside were just as sunny, full of life and activity, bustling market-people and bystanders. Where Heimskr's preaching place had been, a group of acrobats tumbled, juggled and spun. They had a crowd of admirers, children mostly, but a few elders with nothing better to do all day were watching the show too, along with a happy pair that had the suspiciously radiant air of newly-weds about them.

"Nef? What will you do now?" Aela asked when the silence of Jorrvaskr snapped over the din of the busy streets beyond the door. The hall was empty, save for a servant sweeping the floor in a corner. Smoke curled through the rafters, but the fire in the pit had long since died down.

"I have an idea. I will do my best for Skyrim, and I will start with the most miserable of it's children..." Nefasteri's gaze was fixed somewhere on the opposite wall.

Aela looked at Vilkas, who shrugged and shook his head. Nef hadn't always been this puzzling, but that's what twenty years can do to someone.

Nefasteri snapped back to the immediate reality and turned to the two warriors. "First, how do I make Vilkas the Harbinger properly?"

"What? You want to step down?" Aela asked for confirmation, while Vilkas just stared.

"Hmmm? Yes, you could call it that. Oh, right, what about that carriage? Did you send someone to check?"

Vilkas said, "I sent Heylan. He should be back already. I'll go check." With that he strode off, across the hall and out the other side to the training yard.

"I think you gave him quite a shock. He has always been content with being the Second, and you rattled him with the offer." Aela smiled and led the way on Vilkas' trails.

"Wasn't an offer. I have a plan, and I need people to know that they can't look to me for orders," Nef barked rather than said, but followed the huntress nevertheless.

Out in the yard, Eana was training again, this time more gently. Vilkas was at the bottom of the Skyforge, talking with a huge, black-haired Nord.

"You should be proud of her," Nef said to the other woman after a moment of companionable silence.

"We are. But wait until you see Farkas' twins. His and Lydia's."

"Ye gods, are you serious? And me, the sheep, I haven't even visited Lydia."

Nefasteri would have been ready to bolt to Breezehome there and then, if not for Vilkas, who appeared at her elbow, silently as a cat. "To Falkreath the next carriage is in half an hour."

"I could have wished for more time, but we will have to make do. Is Farkas back?"

"Not yet."

"Fine. You tell him I was here, and I'm going to be back again in a few days. Probably."

Aela burst out laughing, while Vilkas said with an admonitory scowl, "That's what you said last time."

"No, this time I truly promise, I will be back soon."

A promise that turned out to be only slightly false.


	5. Chapter 5

Nefasteri slowly strolled down to the city gate and out. The trademark dragonscale armour attracted far more attention than she had as a simple, angry Nord woman. People stopped to stare and quietly whisper to one another, but nobody stopped Nefasteri. She was just that legendary.

The carriage was already waiting at the stables. A lithe Breton woman in blue mages' robes sat in it reading, while an impressively bearded Imperial in Legion armour was negotiating prices with the driver. Very loudly. At Nefasteri's approach they two men even didn't spare her a glance, for all the impressive armour. The Breton looked up briefly, then turned back to reading her book. Nefasteri was mildly annoyed. She hated all the shows of respect and awe, but only by habit. To be just a bystander again was even worse.

The Imperial finally concluded his argument with an angry hrumph and mutters about the prices rising, and shoved quite a hefty bag of clinking gold to the driver. Nefasteri took his place and took out her own coin pouch.

"To Falkreath," she said quietly.

The driver was fairly young, and not one she remembered, but he eyed the woman with recognition nevertheless. As Nefasteri began counting out coins, he coughed nervously and said, "Err... that'll be twenty septims... Ma'am."

By the outraged look of the Imperial who'd over-heard, that was not the right price, but Nefasteri didn't argue. One doesn't get rich by refusing discounts, after all. Nefasteri climbed up and sat beside the scholarly Breton, with the Imperial facing her and still looking mildly disgruntled. Still he didn't say anything and Nefasteri preferred to leave it at that. Though she didn't mind company at all, sometimes she needed time to think and plan. Skyrim had obviously changed much in her absence, though some things had stayed depressingly stagnant. A war still raged, probably the same there had been when Nefasteri had first left Skyrim. The only difference was that Whiterun had joined the Legion, as indicated by the Imperial guards outside and inside the walls, but nothing else had changed. It was a clash between two forces matched too equally for one to eventually gain the upper hand. And she knew her value. Once news of her return spread, one or possibly even both of the leaders might try to persuade Nefasteri to join their cause.

And yet, something else drew her. Those two little thieves had obviously been under-fed, their clothes had been patched and old. This rag-tag group of kids needed her help more than two warlords who'd been going at it for twenty years already.

The carriage rolled forward with a start. No one else had joined them, except for a heavily armoured man who'd joined the driver on the front seat and was now chatting quietly with him. Nefasteri strained her ears to her the conversation over the rumble of the cart.

"Nah, I was hearing that she's marrying Lady Beyra off to the snooty princeling. To help with the politics'n'stuff, I reckon," the armoured guard was saying in a dismissive tone to whatever the driver had said before.

"No, no you got it all wrong. I remember, I was driving a pair of nobles to Solitude and they talked how Ladyship herself was marryin' Faustus," the driver insisted.

The guard sighed loudly and tried to continue the discussion, but Nefasteri interrupted. "What are you talking about?"

The driver glanced backwards hesitantly, his posture stiffening, and replied, "Rumours are about, ma'am. They're saying that Jarl Elisif's going to marry the emperor's third son Faustus. Or that Lady Beyra is going to marry Emperor Julianus' grandson."

"And Lady Beyra is?" Nefasteri prompted.

"Jarl Elisif's daughter. She's twins with Lord Torygg." He coughed and added, "Twenty years of age in a few months they'll be."

Nefasteri nodded and stared off into the distance. The two men started chatting again, about news in war and life. This little piece of information the woman had learned didn't change anything, only reminded her that in her twenty years of absence life had not stopped here. There would surely be other things to be learned and taken into consideration.

The ride was uneventful. When arriving in Riverwood, Nefasteri was pleasantly surprised by how the village had grown. There were five new houses she saw for the first time, and another one next to the mill was under construction. Children ran and laughed in the streets. Obviously the war hadn't hit as hard as it seemingly should have. They stopped there to stretch their legs and give the horse a bit of a rest - they had been going fairly quickly. It was late afternoon, and they were supposed to be in Falkreath after midnight. Nefasteri strolled over where the forge was, intending to chat with Alvor if he was still there, but working the forge was a short and sturdy Nord woman with brown her sticking to her forehead in wet strands. She looked at Nefasteri briefly, then got to work, but looked again when Nefasteri stopped to watch the smith at work.

"I'm sorry... But do I know you?" the smith finally asked, frowning.

Nefasteri laughed faintly and said, "I believe we've met a few times, some twenty years ago. I see you finally got your mother to let you become a blacksmith. Is Alvor here?"

"Oh, no ... No. He passed away last year. Been working the forge too hard in the winter. Caught a bad chill and never recovered. But who exactly are you?"

"I'm sorry. He was a good man." She paused. Tell the woman? There was probably no use keeping it a secret, rumours were going to spread sooner or later anyway. "I'm Nefasteri. I came here with Hadvar and stayed for a few weeks twenty years ago."

Dorthe's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. She let go of the bellows she'd been holding and sat down on a nearby stool, all the while staring at Nefasteri. "But you're... You're the Dragonborn..." As Nefasteri prepared to wave off admiration, the short woman unexpectedly bristled and accused, "And you've been gone for so long! You're a daughter of Skyrim, and you left us in our greatest need! They're still raging on with this war, and you've done nothing to help! How can you even call yourself a true Nord?" The woman got up and continued with her work - a half-finished greatsword - and left Nefasteri completely speechless. Her surprise was interrupted when the driver called out their leaving.

Dorthe's indignant outburst left Nefasteri in a pondering mood for the rest of the ride. She reasoned with herself that she had left to help people in other places - her gift was from the Divines themselves, and what right did she have to use it to help only the Nords?

She got down off the carriage before Falkreath. The sun had set, but it was three hours to midnight at the very least. Pinewatch stood silent before her as the cart rumbled away. The cottage looked hardly big enough to hold five people, instead of the, what, twenty the boy had mentioned? The straw roofhad fallen in on one side and the chimney had crumbled to dust. Either the boy had been messing with her, or the Guild was in an even worse state than she imagined. Nefasteri hesitantly walked up to the door that was hanging on one hinge and stepped inside. It was time to see if all the elders were right and the youth really were nasty, ungrateful little scoundrels.


	6. Chapter 6

Pinewatch was an old, derelict farmhouse – at least on the outside. One end of the roof had fallen in completely; the stone bricks dislodged and the masonry crumbled away. The door had no lock and was holding by one badly rusted hinge.  
Last time Nefasteri had been here, it had been the height of summer twenty four years ago. The farm had been owned by friends of the family - back when she'd had one - and she had spent a few summers here. It almost broke her heart – not only the derelict farmhouse, but all of Skyrim, still waging an old war no one cared about. The people, ones she had left either young and wild or respectable and wise, they all continued on their legacy while she was off. For Nefasteri, now, it seemed as twenty years had gone in a heartbeat.  
Her affair with Brynjolf had been a short one and had ended in a bloody mess – literally speaking. After the business with Esbern and the Thalmor they had met up for a drink or two. Of course, it ended up being about forty, though accounts of that day were still fuzzy. Two months later found Nefasteri at an apothecary's, getting a potion for an unwanted child and Bryjolf being thrown out of Jorrvaskr with a broken nose, ribs and jaw, courtesy of Farkas. Their last encounter had been the day Nefasteri left for Solstheim and it had been a very short one. She wasn't sure if she managed to break anything before Delvin and Vex pried them apart.  
But now she needed allies everywhere for her great undertaking. Friends had to be made in every layer of the society. The two little thieves had told the Guild had fallen, but Nef doubted it was quite that bad. Thieves had a way of surviving and popping up when you least expected them.  
The door creaked so badly Nefasteri cringed. For a moment she thought someone would surely come running, then she wondered why no one did. They couldn't be this careless, could they?  
There was straw and wood and other debris on the floor where the roof had collapsed, but the damage had not touched a small ladder that led to the floor below. There Nefasteri found her guard, an Argonian of indeterminate age, who was sleeping in her chair, legs propped up on a table. Her attire showed that their lives were not so bad – it was a sturdy leather cuirass, one that Nef could see was made by measurements for this particular Argonian. Her greaves and boots matched to it, and there was a leather helmet on the table next to her. Nef left the Argonian sleeping and looked around. A tunnel led down into the mountainside, and a cupboard was standing next to it. Either the mechanism that hid the passage had broken down, or they just didn't care. Probably the latter.  
Nefasteri sneaked down the cave in a half-crouch. The draft whistled in her ears and made it hard to hear anything, but she thought she heard the sound of voices raised in argument. The passage was short and ended on a platform, beyond which Nef could see a massive cave, no doubt made by the ancient Nords. It was decorated in the traditional style of linen wraps lying about and coffins everywhere.  
Her reveries concerning the questionable Nordic decorators were interrupted by a hand pulling her hair back and a sharp pain at her throat. Blood trickled down.  
An unmistakably Argonian voice hissed by her ear, "The lady doess not want to greet uss? The lady will diee."  
A moment later the Argonian was laying on her back before Nef. It had been a simple matter to reach back swiftly and flip the light body over her, after years and years of enterprising thieves had tried the same move on Nef to meet the same end. Killing this little chit wouldn't be a good first impression, but Nefasteri had to make an example somehow. She aimed her foot precisely and stepped on the girl's left hand. She felt the bones crunch under her boot and the same time the Argonian screamed so miserably as if someone was killing her. There came shouts of surprise from further down the cavern and Nef already could see movement. The footbridge started rocking. Someone was coming and Nef had to find an excuse fast.  
So she hauled the Argonian up by her collar and whipped out her blade, which she held against the Argonian's neck.  
The first person to emerge on the platform, where Nef still stood, pressing her blade in the whimpering Argonian's neck, was no other than Jole. He shouted angrily and called for others to come before recognizing Nef. Then he just stood gaping until 'the others' arrived.  
The bunch were a deal more miserable than Nefasteri had expected. They really were all children, the youngest being a girl of about twelve. She in particular wore a very ragged dress, but the rest weren't much better off. Only Jole and a startlingly red-haired girl had actual armor, and that too was only leather, scuffed and scratched.  
At the sight of Nef, the older girl drew a long dagger. The children followed her lead, producing knives and throwing blades and daggers from boots, clothes and in one case, hat.  
Jole all stopped them. "I know her. We got the dragon scales from her." He said to the party behind him calmingly. To Nef he turned angry again. "I thought you were going to help us! And now you come and try to kill Neeus!"  
"Who is she?" The red-haired girl asked, but Jole and Nef disregarded her.  
Nef let Neeus go and raised her hands apologetically. But she said, "If I had tried to kill her, she'd be dead. I was just returning the favor, so to say," she gestured to her still bleeding throat, "and teaching a little bit in extra."  
"Okay," Jole helped Neeus up, who was still on the floor, cradling her broken hand. "I guess you'll want to speak with Bryn."  
"Who is this old crone, who barges in on us and acts as if she were invited?" The girl asked again, more insistently. She twirled her dagger about – a harmless gesture, but certainly suggestive.  
"I'll have none of your lip, girl." Nef pushed past her dismissively. The rest trailed behind Jole and Nef, the children disquietingly silent and deft in their movements.  
Jole led Nef through a small maze of caves, where some youths joined their party and some left. Deep in the cave system, they emerged through a door and into a cavern, which held stacks and stacks of barrels and crates in a rough circle, between which a table sat. At the table three people had leaned in in muted discussion. Their features were shadowed sharply by the lamp that hung from the cave ceiling.  
One of them was unmistakably Brynjolf, though much of the red in his hair and beard had been replaced by white. Another was Vex, who seemed unchanged after twenty years, if not for a wrinkle or two. The third, who sat with her back to Nef, was certainly younger and more heated in her discussion. The three all perked up at the sound of Nef's footsteps – they certainly couldn't have heard the rest of the ragtag band, whose movements were quieter than snow falling. Brynjolf's already pale face grew almost white and he stood up.  
He started to speak, cutting short Jole's introduction. "I think we should speak alone."  
Nef chuckled and stepped closer. "Why? My proposition is for all of you to hear."  
Vex leaned back and smiled broadly. "Huh? So not sex then?"  
Nef laughed outright and glanced back to see most of her followers blush of look down with embarrassed smiles.  
"No, though I'm willing to negotiate."  
Laughs from behind and Brynjolf stood up, saying, "That's the Neffie I remember. Alright – what are you offering and why?"  
Nef sat down on a barrel. "I'm getting complaints about the war. But, I can't do anything before I know what to do. You are thieves, which means you are quick and silent, with fingers in a lot of pies. I need information, and I'm willing to pay for it."  
Jole stepped up and spoke, "Why not just join a side and help them win?"  
"Why should I? I don't care which side wins, but I'd like the war to end. It's bad for my public image."  
"Fair answer." Brynjolf chuckled and crossed his arms. "Well, lass, you've come to the right place. The question now is – just how much are you offering?"  
Nef reached down her cuirass and drew out a bag. It was not a big bag, but it bulged and clinked suggestively and the eyes of all the thieves in the room followed it.  
"No. The question is – how much do you want?"


	7. Chapter 7

Sil Life-Singer look regretfully at the coast. Windswept – the ship she had bought passage on – was moving away rapidly from Raven Rock's port and what for the last twenty years, her entire life, had been her home. The wind was picking up; she could no longer taste the tang of ash in the air and smell the burnt soil of Solstheim. It was so … fresh and new, like a new life ought to be, but Sil was still wondering if she had done the right thing in leaving.  
Her father, Ano Sadrelas, had died a month ago. Sil had left their trusted old housekeeper, gathered all her valuables and left the town with her little brother, to find the mother she had last seen sixteen years ago.  
Arengar, her half-brother, came and stood beside her, at the prow of the ship, looking at the blue, new horizon. He was eighteen, which was no age for an elf, but he was half-human after all and the rashness of his youth just inflamed his enthusiasm more. He thought it was a great game. But Sil needed him with her – Skyrim was a dangerous place, more so than Solstheim, and she was no warrior.  
The wind was favorable, so the Windswept sped along the waves at a breathtaking pace. It wasn't evening yet, when Sil saw the coast of Skyrim, and they had started late in mid-morning.  
As their destination drew nearer, Sil remembered about their appearance. Her shock of purple hair, dyed in scathecraw juice, could be hidden easily beneath a shawl, even if her outfit in which she moved as gracefully as any Dunmer woman betrayed her upbringing. But there was no disguising Arengar's red eyes and the bluish tint to his skin, even if his face was closer to Nord proportions. His stalhrim armor was covered by an enormous black cloak that made his muscled bulk seem even bigger, in contrast to Sil's slight, short form. They were sure to draw questioning looks in any city they entered.  
The captain, who was not at all hostile to the Dunmer, living half his days on Solstheim, enlightened the siblings to the situation at Windhelm. The city, he said, was a nest of Nord overlords, directing their war from the castle and not worrying about the quality of life for their citizens. Dunmer were practically slaves there, in all but name, those who hadn't escaped before the Day of Tears, as the proud Nords liked to call it. There had been no resemblance to the Night of Tears of course. The Nords killed any Mer or Argonian to raise their voice in protest and imprisoned the others. This remainder was first starved, then put to work, breaking up the frozen fields of ice around the city to plant grain to feed their overlords. That day all Imperials in the city were killed on the basis that they might be spies and all Bretons exiled. The reign of King Ulfric had begun.  
Or that was how they saw it. The 'Imperial side' of Skyrim noticed only when reports failed to arrive in time, but General Tullius had no time to worry about what the enemy was doing. He had his own problems – the multi-cultural pot that was the Legion was about to over-boil and the Thalmor were not helping. Where the Stormcloaks had one goal, summed up under 'Skyrim for the Nords!', everyone in the Legion and in the entire West seemed to have a different reason for staying, and they never agreed. Still, that didn't make the Legion worse – they held their ground, gave it and advanced, holding the land in a permanent deadlock for twenty years. And in this turmoil Sil and Arengar expected to find their mother.  
To make things worse, they knew only what father had known about her and that was not much. Sure, all of Raven Rock still remembered her feats sitting around a bottle of Mazte, talking how good it was that she saved the Councilman and reopened the mines, and yet all Sil knew was that she had been a Companion once, under the name of Silver.  
Arengar got up from the crate he had been sitting on, sharpening his stalhrim blade, and put his hand on Sil's shoulder. "It's going to be alright." he said, but nothing could reassure Sil at that point. She gave him a shawl to wrap over his face. They could almost make out the walls of the city now despite the slight mist. Sil was getting more jittery by the moment and cursed herself for ever stepping on Windswept.  
The ship was docked masterfully and only passengers beside Sil and Arengar, two Redguard traders, scurried off. One of them, the woman, turned back and said sympathetically to Arengar, "Be careful. Windhelm is a dangerous place for Dark Elves."  
Sil stepped off first. It was good to feel solid ground under her feet again, but the guards were making her nervous. They stared at her and Arengar, and though their faces were obscured by their helmets, Sil could feel the gazes full of animosity. 'What do you want?' they seemed to ask without words. 'You don't belong here, outlander.'  
She pulled Arengar after her in search of a boat that could take them to Dawnstar. The docks smelled of fish and filth. The whole city reeked. The few Nords that passed Sil were not rich judging by their clothes, and yet they had evidently invested in perfumes. Skinny Argonians in rags worked, diving for fish and cleaning them, loading timber and crates off ships.  
Sil let go of Arengar's sleeve and approached the nearest guard. He was standing on one of the docks, overlooking the Argonians work and otherwise looking quite bored.  
He gave directions with a suspicious tinge in his voice. The next ship to Dawnstar would be the Northern Child, leaving on the morrow. They should go and get a room in the inn, because the guards tolerated no loiterers and yes, there was a tax for entering the city.  
That presented no difficulty. The guard before the gate got so caught up in Sil's illusion spell that he almost forgot to check what kind of money she was giving him. Of course it was real, not the new Imperial currency, but that didn't matter much anyways. Not to him, considering how much Sil overdid the spell. Thankfully there was no one close enough to notice the guard giggling.  
The street just inside the gate was one continuous dingy puddle, populated by dogs and small children. The guards didn't seem to mind them entering – Sil supposed they only worried about people leaving. A smell of corruption even more penetrating than Sil had expected made them almost choke. Solstheim had smelled too, but it had been a smell of ash, clean in its way. The odor that permeated the city felt dreadfully organic and promised corpses around the next corner.  
The inn was not hard to find. It was light and crowded. All the while Sil was purchasing a room for herself and Arengar, an old, shriveled lady talked in screeching tones about politics and war to the young, handsome fellow minding the counter. He escorted the siblings to a room himself, probably to get away from the old woman, Sil thought.  
The room had two beds and a single night table in between. Sil dropped her shoulder bag on one on the beds and sat down sighing. Arengar locked the door behind them. It would not be good if someone accidentally came in and saw either his face or the unusual armor.  
Sil passed the time until reading books that someone had left behind while Arengar alternately paced or did little tricks with fire all the Dunmer had an affinity for. When the evening bell rang and called all the guests for dinner, it was long since dark outside. Sil got food for them both and they ate alone in their room, not in the hall like all the other guests, instantly achieving a reputation as reclusive and secretive people. Nords didn't like people they could not see.  
Getting to sleep was difficult. Sil tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed for hours, stewing in the hopes of meeting her mother soon, and dread of long the journey stretched out before them.


End file.
